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well...I did a 300, 100, 200...can't post it on Ao3 as I'm waiting for my co-writer to help finish the previous part.I'll try to put it here though. (Frank Castle/Shades Alvarez)

When the man was in Havensport, he wasn’t difficult to find. His trademark sunglasses, worn every hour of the day and night, had earned him the nickname Shades, or sometimes Mr. Shades, amongst his associates and employees, and marked him not only for them but for the authorities as well. He’d had his run ins with the law, arrests that never went to trial, repeated episodes of questioning that always ended in his release. Frank knew those things, knew the lawyers at the firm that represented the man, and yet his threats, the occasions when he landed one or more of those lawyers in the hospital, did nothing. Even the judges seemed on Shades’ side, and following further up the food chain brought Frank to the pharmaceutical company near the edge of town. He could storm the place, risk innocent people without considering the consequences, but Havensport wasn’t Hell’s Kitchen, wasn’t the wide spread megatropolis of New York City. Frank had to act with a more precision here. Precision he could do, but sometimes the ties around him were frustrating.

Killing them all would be much easier.

From a rooftop several buildings away, Frank watched through his scope as his target slouched in a chair at the bedside of a man badly burned in some sort of office fire. Lab fire. Frank wasn’t sure which and didn’t care. That wasn’t his concern. It didn’t matter who was in that bed. Only the one in the chair mattered, and Frank was sure he was asleep. But his angle meant that any shot Frank took put the patient at risk too, and killing a man in a hospital bed, a man not his target and, as far as Frank knew, innocent of any wrong doing, was not his agenda.

So he waited.

*

The back of his neck crawled. Not an unusual sensation here. Hospitals always made his skin crawl. He had watched staff come and go all day and hovered behind them, making note of everything they did, or failed to do, for the man in their care. He was not going to allow hospital error take this man from him too…even if they never saw or spoke again upon his released.

With the sickening death shadow tugging the corners of his mind, clawed hands pulling him in, Hernan left his uncomfortable slumber, seeking a morsel of fresh air at the window.

*

Now or never. He could take the shot through the few inches of the open window, avoid the noise the splintering and fracturing would cause. A silent shot, one so low on the man’s torso he would likely to survive the hit, assuming the hospital staff rushed into the room fast enough, did their job with adequate haste and diligence.

Or he could aim higher, split the dirty, transparent pane, go for the kill. One shot between the ribs, straight into the heart. Frank had time for the set up. He had an unhindered line of sight. He’d tried to play by Red’s rules here…but sometimes the kill was necessary. This man Shades…this target…was one of those necessary times. Too many had died because of his actions, because of the work he did, because of his callous disregard for humanity.

One batch.

He adjusted his aim. His target shielded his eyes against the glare of the setting sun.

Two batch.

He readied the shot in the chamber. His target lowered his arm, felt the pack of cigarettes in his breast pocket, but decided against drawing it, against smoking here, and let his arm fall to his side.